


Such a Simple Thing

by RobynTko



Series: Memory Must Be the Devil [1]
Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Divergent, F/M, Jamie through the stones, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:53:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26980942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobynTko/pseuds/RobynTko
Summary: Claire wakes up at the stones with no recollection of the years she spent with Jamie. After learning she is pregnant, she leaves Frank and travels back to Scotland, with no clear path in mind, and no memory to rely on.This is a story that will run parallel to Memory Must Be the Devil. It can be read as a stand alone, or as an alternate storyline to MMBTD. This is a storyline that takes her away from Frank, instead of her staying in the other. Like a sliding doors rendition.
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser
Series: Memory Must Be the Devil [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1969072
Comments: 69
Kudos: 141





	1. Through a Pinhole

**Author's Note:**

> This will have the same first chapter as Memory Must Be the Devil, however if you've already read it, feel free to skip ahead to chapter 2, where it branches off into a different storyline.
> 
> I hope you enjoy.

It was as though the blackness was pulling her through an abyss. The force of darkness was contradictory, as though the matter around her was heavy, but it propelled her weightlessly forward, drawing her towards a pinhole. 

She awoke on her back, the light blinding as she fluttered her eyes open. She instinctively wrapped her arms around her middle, the confusing despair falling around her as she lay there. It took her a moment to get her bearings. The stones. Where she came looking for flowers. Fingertips came up to her forehead as she rose, sitting uneasily. Her brow wrinkled as she tried to think back. 

She felt utterly broken, torn, but had no recollection of why she should. Curls bounced around her chin as she looked down, noticing the strange clothes covering her body. Her fingers traced the material momentarily, but it was the unfamiliar ring on her finger that caught her attention. She traced the hard, rough surface with her thumb, panic rising in her the longer she looked at it. Shuddering against the cold and trepidation, she was now only interested in getting help. In finding Frank. 

Claire stumbled onto the road a few minutes later, relieved to see a car heading towards her. It stopped a few feet away. 

“Are ye hurt, lass?” called the man as he exited his car.

“No,” but she hesitated when she realized she hadn’t taken stock of how her body felt, “well— uh— I don’t think so.”

“What are you doing out here?” His eyes slid curiously over her attire.

She bypassed his question. “Can you drive me into town please?”

“Of course,” the man said, gesturing her to his car, one of his hands gently landing on her back as he guided her slowly to the passenger seat. Once safely inside, she allowed her focus to return to the ring. She ran her fingers over it again, wondering why it didn’t feel foreign. 

***********************************

She was anxiously looking out of the window of the hospital, watching people bustle about, not a care in the world. The feeling of despair, of melancholy, of loss was unbearable and seemed to become amplified as she waited for Frank to get there. 

The hospital staff hadn’t shared much. They had asked so many questions, but she had the answer to only a few: what year she thought it was, why she was out at the stones, and that her husband was Frank Randall. 

Frank. The thought of seeing him was throwing Claire into unexpected turmoil. He had been her safe place, her rock, the man who shared her memories, and her past. But every time she imagined him walking through that door, there was an inexplicable pang in her heart. It was as though it didn’t belong to him anymore, as though she needed to shield herself from him, from what they had. Something had changed, and that something was too big for her to comprehend. And then, this feeling of being ripped away from something else that was— was—

Claire shook her head, frustrated. Every time she got to that point, there was a block, a wall. She folded her arms and huffed, her attention drifting back to the street. 

She could hear voices down the hall, muffled whispers. “I will tell her when the time is right.” They drifted in and out. “I think that would be best.” … “With all she’s been through.” … “It’s good she has you.”

The radio was playing irritatingly in the background, and she heard footsteps. She didn’t turn to look, assuming it was a nurse coming to check on her. 

“It’s so noisy here,” she said coldly, “and can you turn that bloody thing off, please?”

The music stopped, which did nothing to temper her irritation. She just wanted to be left alone. 

“Claire?”

When she locked eyes with Frank, the pang, the despair, the hurt, everything, came flooding back, but she outstretched her arms for him. It was a familiar face, and one full of love for her.

He came to sit on the bed, their embrace one of desperation. He was an anchor she needed ever since waking up at the stones. She felt adrift, but at least there was one thing holding her back from floating too far.

*********************************

“I told you, I don’t know!” Claire repeated, her voice rising again.

Frank stood behind the armchair in her room, one hand resting on the back, one in a fist, pressing between his eyes. “Alright,” he said, trying to temper her, “I—I just don’t understand how three years can simply vanish from one’s memory.”

Claire pushed out a breath, aggravated. They had been going around in circles. Frank was desperately trying to find answers, but Claire had no way of giving them to him. “I told you, I don’t remember anything. I remember going to the stones that day which, like you said, was three years ago, and I remember waking up there a few days ago, which brings us to now. I want to give you answers, Frank.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “I,” a tear slipped from beneath her lashes, “want answers.” 

He moved around the chair, sitting on the edge and reaching over to her. She flinched when his fingers touched her knee through the silk nightgown she was wearing, and he retreated.

“I’m sorry—” she started, but he held his hand up to quiet her.

“It’s alright.”

“It’s not,” she protested. “It’s not alright that I jump at my husband’s touch.” She stood up and began to pace the room. “It’s not alright that I’ve lost three years of my life. That we have lost three years of our marriage. That we don’t have any answers, and I just—” her hands balled into fists, the rage inside her growing as she tried to push the feelings and uncertainty out of her head. 

She felt Frank’s arms wrap around her from behind, and although she jolted involuntarily, she fought the physical rejection from her body and forced herself to push back into him, to let the strength in his arms keep her grounded. But as she fell back towards him, her knees buckled, and he supported her as she collapsed to the floor. She couldn’t hold back what she was experiencing, she needed to be honest. 

They sat on the floor together, her body pooled between his legs, physically drained as she spoke her truth. “I—I don’t want to hurt you Frank. I—I don’t even have anything real to tell you, only feelings, only instinct, but I’m afraid.”

“Of what?” he asked quietly.

“Of pushing you away, when you’re the only one I have left.” She frowned at her own words. She wasn’t afraid of being without Frank anymore, but there was something drawing her to stay with him. There was this nagging voice in the back of her mind telling her to stay close to Frank. 

There was silence for a moment as he took in her words. “There is nothing you can say to me that would make me not want you. For whatever may have happened in the last three years, I forgive you. I still love you.”

Anger bubbled up at his words. She was resentful of them, as though him being graceful should be all she should want, as though he was some kind of uninvited martyr. Her head shook slightly as she tried to suppress that reaction. He was being kind, and understanding, and she tried to be grateful for it. But she wasn’t. “And what about this?” She held her hand up, gesturing to the ring she was wearing.

Frank shrugged, and wavered. “For all we know, it’s a simple piece of jewelry. You’ve been missing for three years, Claire. Anyone could have given that to you, you could have found it. Maybe the person who gave you those clothes, also gave you that ring. There are a million explanations for why that could possibly be on your finger.”

“Then why does it feel so important?”

“If it’s bothering you, take it off.”

She pulled slightly, uncommitingly, but stopped. 

“It’s alright.” She could feel Frank deflate behind her. There was an unspoken tension of what this ring could potentially mean. “Take it off when you’re ready. Or keep it on. Maybe—maybe it’ll jog your memory at some point.” 

Claire tried to straighten her spine, but her body refused, and slumped closer to Frank’s chest. “I don’t know what happened to me. I wish I did. I want to know where I’ve been, what I’ve been doing.” She lingered on that thought, trying to dig deeper into her mind’s eye for any clues, but there was nothing, at least nothing clear. “But,” she began tentatively, “I feel,” she searched for a more fitting word, but all she could come up with was, “sad. I feel like I’m missing something, something important. I think wherever I was,” she hesitated, “whoever I was with, was important to me.”

“Perhaps,” Frank said cautiously, “that feeling was you missing me, missing your life here, and you’re still feeling that.”

She knew he was reaching, but she considered it nonetheless. It could be possible. She could have felt lost, alone, afraid, and had been yearning to come back to her life with Frank, and this was the aftershock of it all. She tried to convince herself that this was a solid observation. It was something she wanted to believe, and so she clung to it. 

She nodded slowly. “Perhaps.” She knew that it was what Frank wanted, and she wanted to comfort him, or at the very least, not upset him further. “I’m sure I missed you terribly, wherever I was. I’m sorry for what you’ve had to endure.” The words came out colder than she anticipated.

“It’s not your fault, darling.” He squeezed her tighter to him.

That familiar reluctance coursed through her, and it infuriated her. She was determined to fight against it with all she had. She turned in his arms to look at him. “I want everything to be the way it was before. I want to be us.” She pressed her lips against his. It was the truth, even if not in its entirety. She did want to go back to the way it was. She did want this to feel normal. But if she was being honest with herself, she knew it was impossible. She knew she had changed. She knew that it would never be the same again. 

She pushed him back as she kissed him and climbed on top of his body. He was more than willing as he slid the silk material up to bunch around her hips. Claire fumbled with his belt and button, trying to free him from his pants. Reaching up, he pulled her down to meet his lips again, and she guided him into her. A groan escaped Frank’s mouth, and Claire slammed her eyes shut, conflicting sensations pulsing through her. Physically, she needed the release, she wanted to feel something other than the despair she had been experiencing, but being with Frank only reinforced the wrongness she felt. 

Again, she refused to be controlled by something she couldn’t even remember. It wasn’t fair. The familiarity of Frank’s body helped her find her rhythm on top of him, but when she opened her eyes, seeing him brought up a tingling in her throat. Forcing it down, she closed her eyes again, and rocked against him, centering her mind on the feeling between her legs, the building response in her physical body. 

Behind her eyelids, a red colour flashed, a tousle, like hair, moved through the blackness, and it urged her on. She concentrated on it as Frank flipped her to her back and began driving into her at a faster pace, his mouth on her neck. Giving access to her throat, her head fell back to the floor, her hands roaming over the skin beneath her palms, her mind envisioning broader shoulders, a stronger torso, a firmer buttocks. Grabbing one handful of his hair, and one handful of his arse, she urged him on, the indistinct picture of another man dancing through the darkness in her mind. 

She heard a groan rise from her chest as her body built towards the release she so desperately wanted. The mistake was opening her eyes to meet Frank’s, seeing all the passion, need, and desire in him. The build was fading away. Closing her eyes again, she lifted her hips up to meet his thrusts, more desperate to will her body into wanting this, clinging on to the fleeting images she had seen before, but it was too late. Frank’s body shuddered as his last few thrusts brought him to orgasm, and he collapsed, spent, on top of her. A tear slid from the corner of her eye, her gaze fixated on a painting she hadn’t noticed before. It was of the Virgin Mary. 

Claire waited as he pulled himself from her and shifted to the side. She felt numb, detached. 

Frank draped his arm across her stomach. “I’m sorry. I thought you were close. I—I used to be able to tell—.” His delivery was awkward, but she understood. They used to be in sync. “I can help you,” he said in a low voice, his hand moving deliberately down, looking for the place between her legs. 

Her hand stilled his descent. “No.” It sounded harsh, so she smiled weakly and gentled her voice. “I think I just need a little more time.”

He seemed to accept this, and sighed deeply. “I missed you so much, Claire.”

Staring at the ceiling, she hoped she wasn’t lying when she replied. “I missed you, too.”


	2. Fleeing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire discovers she is pregnant and Frank confesses that it isn't his. Claire flies back to Scotland, unsure of her next move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short chapter, but it felt like a natural conclusion. Hope you enjoy!

Stepping off the plane gave her vertigo. She had been spinning for days now, not from the turbulence, or the food, but from the wave of emotions she had been riding since leaving Boston. She could feel the nausea rising up in her throat like a hot flash as it pumped through her body. Claire knew this wasn’t morning sickness, she had enough of that to know the difference. 

After passing through the airport, she anxiously peered around the lobby, hoping to see the face she sought. Her hand gripped tighter on the handle of her suitcase, and she could feel the slip of sweat through the glove she wore. A light touch on her elbow made her jump.

“Oh, I’m sae sorry, dear.”

“Mrs. Graham!” Though Claire was a great deal taller than the woman, she stooped down into her embrace like it was her own mother’s arms waiting for her. The unexpected sobs came in bursts, and it took a moment for Claire to gather herself enough to speak. “Forgive me,” she sputtered, pulling away to swipe at the wetness on her cheeks. 

“Let’s take ye home, shall we?” Mrs. Graham reached for her bag and waved Claire away when she protested. Mrs. Graham led the way through the crowds of people embracing their loved ones and Claire was grateful she didn’t have to linger long. 

**************************************

A piping hot cup of tea was placed in front of Claire at the table, and though it was too hot to drink, both of her hands cradled it, pulling the warmth from the glass boundary. “You’re sure the reverend won’t mind me staying here for a few days?”

Mrs. Graham shook her head as she poured her own cup. “Not at all. He’ll be away on business for a few weeks hence. I’m grateful for the company, and he was always fond of ye, Claire. Tis nae bother.”

Claire grimaced. The reverend was a friend of Frank’s, the man she had just abandoned, the man whose heart she had broken only a few days prior. She felt guilty for using Frank’s connection to assist her escape from him. Claire shuddered at her inner dialogue. Things really had changed. The realization kept hitting her like pummeling, relentless waves crashing over her, threatening the breath she so desperately needed. 

Mrs. Graham reached over, her fingertips touching the back of Claire’s hand. “You dinna need to speak if ye’re no ready, but…”

Claire pursed her lips. “I don’t know where to start.” She brought the teacup to her mouth, blew the steam away and lowered it again, the slow dancing cloud returning. 

“Well, over the phone you mentioned that Frank was no coming wi’ ye. Does that mean—” She trailed off, waiting for Claire to finish the thought.

“Yes.” She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “We aren’t together anymore.”

“Have you,” Mrs. Graham leaned forward, cautiously urging her on, “remembered something?”

Claire sighed. “No. Perhaps that would have made it easier. I—I don’t know.”

“Easier how?”

“If I could have offered Frank a reason why I don’t—why I couldn’t—” She let those unfinished words float in the air like a fog. “But I suppose there is no easy way to say goodbye.”

Mrs. Graham let Claire marinate for a moment before speaking again. “Did ye give any more thought to the conversation we had when you returned a few months ago?”

Claire knew exactly what she was referring to. The reverend had clearly encouraged Mrs. Graham to stay quiet on the subject but after days of Claire and Frank arguing, she couldn’t hold her tongue any longer. She had blurted out a story about the magic of the stones and how Claire could possibly be a traveler. 

She pointed out the clothing she was wearing when she returned, the lost years with no trace of her, how she disappeared and reappeared at the stones. The reverend all but banished the idea, and although Frank did ask a few questions, Claire could see the rejection in his analytical mind. Claire, herself, remained stoic through it all and allowed them to bicker about her as if she wasn’t present.

Claire smiled feebly. “I just don’t know if I believe in any of that.”

“It doesnae need your belief to exist, my dear.” The words rose from her heart and were soft in their delivery. She didn’t take offense that no one believed her, she didn’t need them to and Claire admired that faith. Mrs. Graham reached over and took Claire’s hand. “It pains me to see ye hurtin’ so.”

Claire opened her mouth to answer, but no words would form. She squeezed the woman’s hand instead.

“So, what brings ye back to Scotland, then, if you’re no going searchin’ for answers with the stones?”

Claire laughed in disbelief. “I don’t know. After I told Frank I was leaving, my first call was to you. I don’t know why I chose to come back here. Maybe I was hoping if I retraced my steps I could pick up all the pieces I seem to have dropped along the way.”

“And the babe?”

Claire flashed her eyes to Mrs. Graham’s. “He told you?”

She nodded, that calming smile gracing her face. “Aye. After you left for the airport he rang here. He was worried about ye travelin’ upset, with child. I didna pry for details.”

The sorrow swelled again. If nothing else, Frank did love her, and she was thankful he had. She hoped he could move on from her, though the thought of him with someone else churned her stomach as well. It wasn’t from jealousy, more from habit. She had so few people in her life looking out for her, it was a scary thought to be away from the man that for so many years had anchored her. But she didn’t want to stay with him out of fear.

Claire subconsciously placed a palm on her stomach, her eyes following the movement. “He offered to help me raise the baby, you know.” Claire glanced up, and knew from the lack of reaction that Frank had also told her the child wasn’t his. “It was an enticing offer. Truth be told, I thought it was his.”

“So, you don’t know who—”

Claire shook her head before letting it fall back for a moment. “No.” Her memory began spitting up images of her conversation with Frank. “It would have been easy for him to lie. It would have, perhaps, been easier to lie. I could see how painful it was for him to have to tell me that it wasn’t his.”

“How did he know?”

“He had gotten tested while I was missing. He’s sterile.” She paused, her thumb tracing the painted vine that wrapped around the teacup in her hands. “When the doctor confirmed my pregnancy upon my return, Frank insisted on sharing it with me privately when he thought I was ready to hear it. I didn’t know any of it—that I was pregnant, that he knew I was pregnant, that he was sterile.” She laughed darkly. “I wonder if he was considering passing it off as his, or he hadn’t made his mind up.” 

Claire gazed off into the film reel of that conversation. She did consider staying to raise the baby with him. It probably would have been easier than the choice she ultimately made. The struggle to be with him was so overwhelming, though, that it made staying feel impossible. She wanted to protect the invisible barrier she had created for herself that now included this innocent child inside of her. It felt like an injustice to stay. “I would have believed it was his, though part of that would have been denial. Or fear of what it would mean if it wasn’t his. Like I said, it probably would have been easier if he lied.”

“But, here ye are.”

“Here I am.” Claire finally took a sip of her tea, the liquid warming the icy chill inside her.

“Now what?”

Claire shrugged, anxiously biting her lip. “I have no idea.”


	3. New Path

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire tries to retrace her steps, but finds direction in an unexpected way.

Claire scrunched her hair up in a towel, wringing the water from it. She felt lighter after a good night’s sleep and a morning bath. Her sleep was dreamless and undisturbed, which shocked her after all she had been through and all she had left behind. Her dreams in Boston had been haunting, restless, and disturbing.

There was a sense of peace she didn’t understand or really care to. She was grateful for the reprieve in emotions, acknowledging the absence of peace over the last several months. She chuckled at the ridiculousness of feeling more content with one suitcase full of clothing, as a guest in a house, with no sense of direction than she did in a house filled with beautiful things, a husband, and the promise of a comfortable life. 

Uncle Lamb crossed her mind in that moment, and she wondered if staying still would simply never suit her, if she would ever find a home where she wanted to stay. 

Mrs. Graham was bustling around the kitchen when Claire joined her. They exchanged morning pleasantries before sitting across from each other much like they had the night before, tea cups in hand. 

“There is a market in town today, if ye’re lookin’ for something to busy yerself with,” Mrs. Graham offered after Claire mumbled something about not knowing what to do with herself. 

Claire nodded politely but knew she wasn’t interested. The thought of being around too many people made her stomach flip. “I thought about going back up to the stones, but I don’t know if I’m ready for that quite yet.”

Mrs. Graham pouted in sympathy. “Hard to know what answers may lie there.”

Claire shrugged. “If any.” She sipped her tea. “I know I want to retrace my steps, but that’s the only step I have, really. I could go and do the drive that Frank and I did before I disappeared, see if that brings anything up.”

“I don’t see how it could hurt,” Mrs. Graham said hopefully. “Gettin’ into the country would be good for ye as well.”

Claire smiled at her. “Thank you for everything you’re doing for me.”

Mrs. Graham clicked her tongue at her. “‘Tis nothin’.” She rose and retrieved a set of keys, placing them in Claire’s palm. “Ye’ll take the car. I’ll no be needin’ it today.”

**************************************

As Claire drove, memories popped up in her head. She didn’t stop at every place she did with Frank, though she had intentions to; her foot remained steady on the gas. His voice drifted through her mind with facts on the area, her eyes searching for landmarks he had pointed out. 

She did stop once, at a place Frank had explained as an ambush spot. Claire remained in the vehicle, feeling a memory trying to push through, but she couldn’t place it. It had something to do with horses, she thought. Men on horseback? She couldn’t recall seeing any such thing when she drove through with Frank. It was quite the opposite, actually; they had barely seen another passing car on their whole journey that day. 

After getting sufficiently frustrated, she moved on. She had no desire to stop until she got to the ruins of the castle they had explored. She remembered that with fondness before plummeting into sorrow. 

The last time she had been there, she and Frank had been happy. They had walked through the hallways of this magnificent place holding hands, giggling, sharing, and in love. Without thinking, she found herself inside the abandoned property. She walked along those same halls, reliving those last happy moments with Frank. 

Claire found herself walking down a set of stairs, looking around the room where Frank had positioned himself between her legs and pleasured her until she screamed his name into the emptiness of the room. Although the memory pulled at her, she could say with confidence that she didn’t want it back, and that thought pained her more than anything else. 

Her eyes wandered over to the crumbling hearth, and in her mind she could see hanging herbs. Allowing her imagination freedom, she set up the room in her mind’s eye—books on shelves, medicine in jars, a man in a kilt, flaming red hair, walking down the stairs. His shoulder was hurt.

The thoughts dissipated back into ruins when she wavered slightly, her hand moving to her stomach. She realized she hadn’t eaten all day. Steadying herself, she let her eyes scan the room once more before leaving it all behind. 

**********************************************

Claire made her way into the kitchen, expecting to find Mrs. Graham, but it was empty. “Mrs. Graham?” 

Placing a large paper bag on the counter, Claire went to fetch two plates, placing them gently on the table. She wanted to wait, but she was starving, and the little bean inside her body was begging for sustenance. 

Claire pulled out an eloquently wrapped sandwich from the deli and unwrapped it, letting the smell of the freshly baked bread torture her for a moment. She took a knife and cut it in half on her plate before taking a bite much too large for her mouth and humming her satisfaction as she chewed. 

“Claire?” Mrs. Graham called from somewhere in the house.

Claire sped up her chewing, her hand covering her mouth, as she called back a muffled, “In here!”

Mrs. Graham popped into the kitchen, mail and newspaper under her arm. “Hello, dear! How was yer afternoon?”

Claire cursed at herself for taking such a large bite, still trying to chew her way through it. “Good,” she answered after finally swallowing the majority, her hand still in front of her mouth. She pointed to the paper bags. “I got you a sandwich from the deli and some pastries.”

“Thank ye! I’m famished.” Mrs. Graham busied herself making tea before joining Claire at the table, who was nearly finished with her meal by then. They sat in comfortable silence until the kettle whistled it’s finale. Claire stilled Mrs. Graham with her hand, gesturing that she would get the kettle. 

“Anything interesting happen today?” Mrs. Graham pried.

Claire placed the teapot on the table, along with two mugs. “Not really, unfortunately.” She returned to her chair. “And then I got so hungry I had to turn back, so,” Claire shrugged the end of her sentence. The newspaper had spread out slightly on the table and a corner of it caught her eye. Opening it, she saw an abandoned house with a “for sale” label at the bottom. “What’s this?” she asked, holding it open.

Mrs. Graham stretched to see. “Oh! That’s an old farmhouse about an hour away from here. A young couple bought it oh—” she looked up at the ceiling trying to think back, “about eight or so years ago. It was quite run down as I recall.” She glanced over at the picture again. “It looks like they’ve done a lot of work to it.”

“It says here that it still needs a lot of work,” Claire mused, scanning the article. Claire mumbled the words out loud as she read, “hoping someone who will restore her to her former glory… otherwise it could be lost or replaced… caretaker cottage, plumbing and electrical in good working condition…” her eyes darted back and forth before she piped up again. “It says it comes with a caretaker as well, if needed. It is very reasonably priced for being such a large house and property.”

Mrs. Graham nodded. “I remember hearin’ a while back that the couple loves historical buildings and, far as I heard, they bought it for pennies. They’ll still be makin’ a bit of coin from it at that price. And look there, they say the name of the house is etched in the stone at the entrance. ‘Lallybroch.’ That’s lovely.”

“I want it,” Claire stated confidently.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I need to buy it.”

Mrs. Graham chuckled. “Claire, this is a homestead. It’s in the middle of nowhere, it’s a huge property. How are ye—”

“Damn. Exactly. How am I going to afford this? I would have enough to buy it but not enough to put money into it.”

Mrs. Graham reached over and covered her hand. “Are ye being serious, dear? You really want to buy this home?”

Claire looked down at the paper again. “Yes. I don’t know why, but when I look at it… I feel drawn to it. I—” Her free hand went to the side of her neck, rubbing it while she fought her own thoughts. “My whole body started tingling when I saw it. I just don’t know how I’ll pull it off.”

“And the babe?”

“I have several months before the baby comes, as long as I can fix it up enough to be comfortable by the time it arrives.” She shrugged. “Although, I don’t have the money, so—”

Mrs. Graham stood up abruptly and left the room. Before Claire could question why, she returned holding a dress. 

“Is that?”

Mrs. Graham nodded. “Frank wanted to burn it, but after the reverend told me about its authenticity, I convinced them both to allow me to donate it to a museum, or somewhere that might appreciate it.”

Claire reached out to touch the fabric. She remembered waking up in that dress, her life completely changed.

“‘Tis quite valuable, I’ve been told,” Mrs. Graham said quietly, a smile on her face. “And it does belong to you.”

“Does it?” Claire whispered. She reached out to embrace the older woman before scooping the dress up and grinning ear to ear. “This is exactly what I needed!” She raced out of the room to make some phone calls.

She could hear Mrs. Graham’s fading voice behind her. “Promise me ye’ll drive out to look at it before you buy it! Just to be certain!”

“I will!” Claire shouted over her shoulder, knowing full well it didn’t matter what state the house was in, it would be hers. Lallybroch would be hers.


	4. Long Road to Lallybroch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire gets the keys to Lallybroch and goes to work creating a home she can truly feel is her own.

Claire punched the clutch in as hard as she could, jamming the stick into gear. The grinding that persisted afterwards wasn’t a welcome sound, but she ignored it, turning up the radio. The closer she got to Lallybroch, the less in tune the station was, but she didn’t care. Her life was finally hers. 

It only took a couple of months to finalize the sale, and after selling her dress to a collector, she had enough to begin renovations and buy the car she needed. It left much to the imagination, but she was thrilled all the same. A house and a car of her own, a real chance to start over. 

Her hand drifted down to her belly, and she pressed her palm gently against it. She had a check up earlier that week at the doctor’s office closest to where she would be living. She was so thankful to Mrs. Graham and the Reverend for their hospitality and assistance while she finalized her plans. 

A small bump against her hand made her smile and look down briefly. “Hi, baby. I hope you’re comfortable in there. Mummy is so excited to meet you.” A slight pang in her chest made her shrink slightly. “I will do my best for you, my darling. I’m so sorry I don’t have more to tell you about how we ended up here, but I hope you know I will do my very best, and I will love you with all of my heart.”

The sight of the house snapped her out of the guilt she felt, and it was replaced with excitement. She had met the caretaker a couple weeks prior and made a deal with him so he could stay. He was a kind, older man. He moved at a steady pace, and knew the property inside and out. His wife had passed away ten years prior. He had been caretaking the place for over ten years before that, though he didn’t live on site until his wife passed away, at which point he had renovated an outbuilding into a caretaker cottage. It was homey and comfortable, perfect for him. He was grateful to Claire for keeping him on, but she was the one that was thankful for him. The idea of moving out into the middle of nowhere to renovate a large estate with no experience was all well and good, but the reality of it was much different. She knew she needed all the help she could gather. 

She drove through the arched stone entrance and stopped the car a few feet away from the steps to her new home. Her vehicle promptly backfired a finale. She could see the caretaker laughing before rubbing the back of his neck. She knew he was already seeing more work to be done. 

He opened the car door for her, and she stepped out, breathing in the fresh air around her. “Good morning, Mr. Snigs!”

“And a good mornin’ to ye as well, mistress.”

“Claire, please.”

“Claire.” His voice melted her. He said her name in a way she imagined a grandfather would say it, with warmth. “Did ye remember the parts I requested?”

“Yes! They’re just the boot.”

Mr. Snigs made a few trips from the car to the house, commenting on how light she packed, and how surprised he was. He made mention of his wife and how their spare room in their house ended up being a closet, mostly for her shoes, though she rarely wore any of them. Claire could hear the fondness in his voice as he spoke of his wife, and it stirred her in a way she felt she would never be able to understand. Their love was deep, spiritually unending, and pure. Though she knew that death had a tendency to make people idealize their lives, Mr. Snigs made no qualms about sharing the less glamorous details as well, which she appreciated. 

Claire stood in the main room, looking around. She had been there numerous times over the past couple of months while they were in negotiations, but she still couldn’t believe this was hers. She reached down into a paper bag at her feet, pulled out a vase, and placed it on the mantle of the fireplace. She stood back. It was a grand fireplace. 

The house was fairly bare, though the previous owners left some furniture: a couch, a bed, a few dressers and nightstands, the basics. The kitchen was in working order, with a stove and a fridge that came with the house. The previous couple did amazing work getting the electricity and plumbing updated. It was mostly bones, but the foundation was strong, and Claire was excited to put her touch on every room, to make it truly her own. 

The thought was exhilarating, but overwhelming. The home was massive, and though she knew she was capable of it, she was also painfully aware that this was a huge task to commit to while pregnant and expecting her first child, with no partner to lean on. 

She made her way up the stairs with her suitcase in hand. She opened the double doors to the master bedroom. As they swung open and banged against the wall, she made a mental note to put door stoppers on her list. She did a loop in the room, her fingers brushing against the walls, the stone of the fireplace, the windowsill (where she noted a draft), and finally the bed. It was a large four poster frame that reached toward the roof. She wasn’t sure if it was original, she couldn’t imagine the material lasting for so long, especially considering the perfect shape it seemed to be in. She could see the mattress was brand new, though. She had ordered it as soon as the sale was finalized, and Mr. Snigs made sure it had been delivered on time. She also noted the brand new sheets in a package on the bed as well, with a note that said “Welcome home,” signed by Mrs. Graham. 

She smiled, already looking forward to making and getting into bed. She suddenly felt exhausted. 

************************

She hadn’t meant to sleep the afternoon away, but that’s what she did. When she finally pulled herself out of bed, she could see the light fading outside the window, and she groaned. She had been hoping to make some lists of what to get from town, and to formulate a plan of attack on where to begin. 

Her few bags were gathered at the bottom of the stairs now, and she pulled a throw blanket out of one of them and wrapped it around herself. She could smell something delicious and realized she also hadn’t thought to stop at the small, family owned market that was situated about ten minutes down the road. She was sure it would be closed by now. Mr. Snigs had made a comment about them being wonderful people, and that they were great at stocking the essentials so folks around there didn’t have to drive all the way into town to get basic items. 

There was a covered plate on the new counter in the kitchen, with a note from Mr. Snigs. 

Thought ye’d be hungry. I put some eggs in the fridge for morning, and some bread and apples on the counter. 

-Snigs

Pulling the cover off, she saw that the food was still steaming hot. Chicken, potatoes, and corn, perfect. She searched the drawers until she found some utensils, and she was thankful for the previous tenants for leaving a few things behind. She ate standing at the counter, wrapped in her blanket, listening to the stillness of the house. It didn’t feel lonely, though. 

She heard a quiet tapping at the door. 

“Come in!” she yelled before taking another mouthful.

Mr. Snigs tiptoed down the hallway entrance, calling into the kitchen. “Sorry to disturb ye, mistress, I’m bringin’ in some more firewood. The heat can be tricky in here. Would ye like me to start ye a fire?”

Claire walked to the door of the kitchen so she could see him and held her hand in front of her mouth as she spoke, as it was still filled with food. “Yes, that would be lovely, thank you.”

“Would ye like one started in yer bedroom as well?”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t think I’ll be going to bed anytime soon, I can start it later. Thank you, Mr. Snigs.”

“Of course.” He nodded before bringing his armful of wood to the basket beside the fireplace. “The weather has been warming up during the day now, we won’t be needin’ too much more wood at night once summer is truly here.” He left to retrieve more, and she watched as he climbed the stairs steadily toward her room. 

After she emptied the plate and placed it in the sink, she began walking through the house. Each room smelled like a memory she couldn’t quite grasp. She thought of Uncle Lamb as she slowly inspected each area of her new home. She was so grateful for the childhood she had, but she was thankful that she could give her child something different. A home. Stability. Familiarity. Her thoughts wandered, as she did. As she started thinking about her missing years, she smiled. 

The guilt she was holding onto, on behalf of Frank, was dissipating. She was beginning to have new curiosity toward the years she lost, instead of an emptiness. Where had she been? Why did she want to come back? What kind of adventure had she been on? Why did she feel so devastated when she woke up at the stones? Why would she have left in the first place? Wasn’t she happy with Frank before all of this? The shift in perspective was refreshing, and the deep breath that followed felt like the first one she had taken in months. She was free to explore those conflicting emotions in her own time, at her own pace, and in her own way. She was content.

*****************************

The next month was overwhelming, despite the positive beginning Claire experienced. One of the pipes had burst a few days in, and a rat chewed through some electrical in the wall. The two things she had been so thankful for were taken out within a couple of days of each other. Getting a plumber and electrician in the area was no easy feat, but she was thankful for Mr. Snigs’ connections in the community. Both of those things were fixed within a week. Claire had gone to the hardware store more times each week than she had in her entire life combined. She learned more than she cared to know and let Mr. Snigs take the lead on many things. She even hired a small crew to start sanding and repairing a few of the rooms in the house. 

By the end of the month, the living room and kitchen were completely finished, and Claire was washed over with a sense of relaxation every time she walked into either room. She had to shield her eyes in most other areas of the house, however, as there were always tools, dust, nails, and various debri strewn about. 

Her crew had been working on her room and the room next to it, which would be the baby’s room, so she had been sleeping on the sofa. Though she had steeled herself for many sleepless nights, she found herself waking up refreshed most mornings, despite her dreams. 

Though she was anxious for the house to be done, once Mr. Snigs had introduced her to the greenhouse, she spent every waking minute in it. She was actually shocked that she hadn’t noticed it before. There was an old wood structure in the courtyard, across from the main door of the house, and tucked in behind it was the entrance to the greenhouse. They hired a company to come in and tear down the old structure which opened up the courtyard that much more and gave a full view of the greenhouse. Once Claire had cleaned the windows, dusted it out, and cleared the cobwebs, she couldn’t wait to start growing herbs and vegetables in it. 

Mr. Snigs salvaged wood from another part of the property and built some garden boxes to put just outside of the greenhouse for vegetables that required a cooler temperature. Mr. Snigs said he had a potato patch, as well. 

*****************

Another month had passed, and the early summer heat was beginning to impede Claire’s work in the greenhouse during the afternoon. Her room was complete, and she had decorated it to her liking. It was crisp and clean, with cozy components and small accents of colour. Although the baby’s room had been completed by the crew, she still needed to decorate, as well as get the basics: a crib, a mobile, a rocking chair, all the things she envisioned. But, though she was excited to get started, she kept gravitating outside toward the herbs that were growing. 

She was pushing a wheelbarrow full of dirt from the entrance of the courtyard. Mr. Snigs had left it there at her request. Now that it was warm enough to transplant some of her seedlings, she was eager to do so. A sharp pain rippled through her stomach and she fell sideways, her hip connecting with the concrete basin beside her, the wheelbarrow tipping over. 

“Oh, Lord!” Claire heard someone say, as footsteps sped toward her. “Ye alright, lass?” She felt hands grasp her arms, leading her to the bench in the shade. 

“Yes, I—I think so.” She pressed on her stomach where the pain was now subsiding.

“Do I need to call for help?”

“No,” Claire answered, assuredly. “It’s just a stitch. It’s been happening more and more. My body doesn’t like all the stretching I’ve been asking it to do.” She finally looked up, meeting the kind brown eyes of a stranger. She had hair that looked brown in the shade, but had an auburn hue in the sunlight. It had a natural wave to it, with some rogue ringlets in various places, as it cascaded down past her breast.

The woman reached over and covered Claire’s stomach, squeezing slightly in places as though she was examining her. “Where can I get ye some water?”

“I’m fine, really.”

“Aye, I can see that, but it’s hot.”

Claire could hear the chastising in her voice. She surrendered. “Alright. I would actually love some tea.”

The lady nodded and pulled Claire up by her elbow gently, leading her into the house. “I’m Maggie, by the way. I have a property just over the hill.” She gestured vaguely toward her home. 

“I’m Claire.”

“I know.”

Once Claire was settled at the kitchen table, Maggie set to work and got the kettle going, searching for, and finding, two mugs and a teapot. Claire pointed to a cupboard when Maggie couldn’t find the tea, and Claire marveled at the ease in which Maggie situated herself.

Once the tea was finished, Maggie placed the pot and the cups at the table before settling into another chair. “So, how far along are ye?”

Claire flushed. She still felt uneasy speaking of the baby, as it inevitably led to questions she couldn’t answer. But the feeling passed quickly, the energy of calm that surrounded Maggie helped Claire relax her guard. “I’m due in November.”

Maggie quickly did the math in her head before smiling. “Do ye think it’s a girl or a boy?”

Claire shrugged. 

Maggie went on. “I’m sorry I didna come by sooner, when ye first moved in. Time tends to get away from me. My mother and I wanted to welcome ye to the area, and, oh Christ!” She swore before banging her fist on the table and jumping up to run outside. 

She returned moments later, a basket draped over her arm. “Apologies, Claire,” Maggie said breathlessly before putting the basket on the table. “I dropped this outside when I saw ye topple over. I completely forgot.”

Claire laughed. 

“I wish we had more to welcome ye with, but here.” She began to unpack the basket. “Some jelly we canned from our fruit bushes last summer, some eggs from our chickens.” She was more careful when she removed the next few items, which were plants, the roots and dirt wrapped in cloth and tied with twine. “Mr. Snigs said ye were quite the gardener, and that ye appreciate herbs and the like. Sage,” she said, holding up one of them, “some call it salvia. It can be hard to find in these parts lately. It grows quite big and can be used for many things.”

Claire’s eyes lit up and she reached out, her fingers rubbing the small leaves before smelling the scent. 

“And here,” Maggie pulled out another, “lavender. It’s common, but it was something I used constantly with my babe when she was wee.”

Claire was startled by that. Maggie was about Claire’s age, of course it was possible she had children, but Claire didn’t expect that. “You have kids?”

“Only one.” She smiled sadly. 

“So, it’s you and your husband who own that property?”

“No. My husband died shortly after Earie was born. ‘Tis her, myself, and my mum over there. We raise cattle, mostly.”

“Earie, what a beautiful name.”

“Aye, I named her after my mum. We usually call her Rie, for short. Didna expect that we’d be livin’ in the same house. But life can really surprise ye. My dad died when I was wee, as well. My mum says it’s the magic we carry, the men are no’ strong enough to hold us fer too long.” She winked then. 

“Magic?”

“Oh, aye, we come from a long line of powerful women. We ken when there is good energy, and when there is bad. I was going to say when this sage gets big enough we should cleanse the house, but,” she looked around, sighing, “it feels… calm. I dinna think there is any bad energy here. Mostly good energy, though, a little sadness as well. But sad doesna mean evil.”

Claire was so intrigued. She had been all over the world, seen a multitude of cultures, and considered herself open-minded. She had experienced energy work, and cleansings in many different ways. Whether she fully believed it didn’t matter, what did matter was what she got from each experience. That’s what was real. She got a good, comforting feeling from Maggie, and felt pacified in her presence. Claire straightened in her chair excitedly as she had a thought. “So, then, you must know the forest fairly well, for foraging, and for healing and such?”

“Oh, aye, ‘tis one of my favourite things to do, make balms, salves, and medicines out of nature’s gifts.”

Claire reached over and covered her hand, her eyes growing still wider. “I would love to come with you one day!”

“Of course!” Maggie said, smiling. There was a knowing in her eyes, like she had expected them to become fast friends. “Now, I’m going to go clean up that wheelbarrow of dirt in the courtyard,” she stopped Claire’s protest with a dismissive wave, “and ye’ll no’ argue wi’ me. Ye’ll get some rest. I have to get back and sing the cows home.”

“Sing them home?” Claire repeated.

“Aye,” Maggie laughed, “if ye put yer ear out yer window upstairs around five, ye’ll hear us singing them home. Ye might even be able to see from there.”

Claire frowned, she didn’t understand what she meant, but it had piqued her curiosity.

Maggie gave Claire a quick peck on the cheek, like she had been a friend since birth, or a cousin even, and left. She could hear scraping from the courtyard as she cleaned up the spilled earth. Claire desperately wanted to go back outside and finish her task, but she didn’t dare go out when Maggie was still there. Her Scottish temperament was evident, though there was a softness beneath it that made Claire yearn for the family she never had. 

Claire was up at the open window in her room just before five, sitting on the bench she had made from the windowsill. She was holding a book, though she had only read a couple of lines before simply allowing it to hang from her hand. She could see the next farmhouse, it wasn’t unlike her own estate, made from stone, older, but with more farming equipment and new stables. 

She sighed, her attention coming back to her book, but she reread the same two lines before she could hear the voices rising up in the distance. Three figures, all different heights, were standing shoulder to shoulder, dresses and hair flowing in the breeze. The voices were eerie and enchanting. Claire couldn’t quite tell, but she didn’t think they sang in english. There was a tingle, like welcomed ice in her veins, as she listened. She couldn’t see them at first, but within a few moments, the cows began appearing at the other end of the pasture, coming out from along a treeline, moving toward the sound. They didn’t run, but sauntered, as if hypnotized. Claire felt hypnotized, as well. It filled her with sadness and hope and reminded her of an irrecoverable time. She got lost as the sound rose to her. The vision of a man in a kilt, tousled red hair, and her on a horse with him, riding over the hills as Lallybroch came into view. She looked up to the sky and spoke of airplanes. 

Movement in her stomach pulled her from the thought. She placed her hand over the spot to feel the little bumps against her fingers. That picture in her mind was vivid, and it reminded her of the dreams she continued to have, the watercolor pictures that floated through her mind as she slept. There was meaning there, but she was no longer in a rush to remember. After all, how important could they be if she had blocked them out? Maybe she was meant to be like Maggie, raising a strong child. Alone. If it was this painful without the actual memories, perhaps it was better to forget.


	5. Whispers of Walls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire reaches the end of her pregnancy, but labor bring with it more than she anticipated.

Claire watched the women sing the cows home every night after that first night. It became a welcomed tradition—making tea, sitting by the window, being encompassed with the hauntingly beautiful tones that rose up into the evening air. 

Claire had spent so many more nights working on the house and found herself running her hands over the walls of the rooms she entered like she was trying to pull the memories from the house through her fingertips. Though she didn’t get visions from whoever had lived there before her, she did begin to experience memories of her own. She could tell that she was projecting her surroundings onto the memories, so she was curious about how much of the memory was true and how much was imagination due to her surroundings. 

She sat by the window long after the sun had gone down one night, and like a projection of a film, she could see herself sitting on the floor in front of a man who sat on a blue chair. She couldn’t see his face, but could see the red hue of his hair. Though she could see in her reality there there was no fire going, through the static of the memory she could see the flickering light and hear the crackle. She could hear his low murmuring, a calming tone floating easily from him. He spoke of something painful, but she couldn’t tell what. Watching herself was surreal; she was clearly enamored by this man. But who was he? She put it together quickly that it was the same man she had imagined riding on a horse with. She had dismissed that as fantasy, but now she wasn’t so sure. 

A week later she was sitting in the same spot, and another memory prodded her consciousness. She could feel arms wrap around her, a face nuzzling into her hair, hands roaming her body. At first it was like a breeze, then like a feather, then a blanket as the memory became clearer, and heavier. She could make out quiet words, and she strained to hear, like she was eavesdropping on someone just out of range. “And now I… I wake up every day and I find that I love ye more than I did the day before.” The vibration in his voice soothed her, like the quiet rumbling of a far away train. She touched her fingertips together, certain she could remember the feel of his skin beneath them. The taste of him was on her lips as well, and she licked them gently. Her voice was louder in her memory than his was. “I love you.”

The memories left her rattled and exhausted. She couldn’t be sure of what was real and what was imagined. There was no way these memories took place at Lallybroch. There was no way the attire she imagined was accurate and she was sure that her brain was compensating for the time period the house reminded her of. But the feeling she got when she heard his voice, or felt the memory of his touch, that, she was certain, was real. 

With every memory came a spiral. The idea that she willingly found someone else, fell in love with someone else, and became impregnated by someone else filled her with a pressing shame. If she could only remember how it all happened, and why it all happened. Frank had assured her that they were as happy as she remembered when she disappeared. And she believed him. They had a good marriage, so she thought, a good sex life, a mutual respect, and understanding of pasts. What pulled her away from that? It shook her foundation and made her question herself with intense judgement. Maybe she didn’t know herself the way she thought. It was as though she was taken over by a stranger, and she couldn’t sympathize with whoever that was. 

That morning, Claire woke up from a dream that she knew immediately were fragments of another memory. She felt completely broken, but without the full picture, it was impossible to grasp why. She also knew she was projecting part of her current self into the memory. She was pregnant in it, and the same man was tracing fingertips over her belly while he spoke. He walked away and returned with a box. The dream skipped forward to her holding a spoon, and more spoons were out of focus below. She could hear a vague conversation about if Claire would make a good mother, but it wasn’t the words she focused on, it was the feeling. She felt scared, unsure, nervous, unprepared. When he reached out for her, it was replaced with comfort, reassurance, love, and support. 

A tear fell freely out of the corner of her eye as she stared at the ceiling, still lying in bed. She took this to mean that the man she had left, the man she had loved when she was away from Frank, knew about this baby. And he wanted it. Part of her prayed that was the case, and yet it distressed her. What if he left her in the end? What if he wasn’t who she thought? And if not, why did she leave him? The sense of love was painfully clear, and she could tell by the remnants that she was still deeply wounded by it. But without a coherent memory, how could she truly know? And how could she heal?

Claire found her way downstairs, her growing belly now slowing her down. She was a couple of months away from her due date, and her nerves grew with her. She heard the knock at the door as she took a bite of an apple. “Come in!” she yelled, knowing it was Maggie. They had made a plan to go herb hunting, and Claire couldn’t wait. She was hoping the distraction would quell the feeling of sorrow. 

**************************************

A short while later they were scouring a beautiful, thick area of forest. Moss covered most of the ground, and Claire was thankful for the tree shade, the coolness was a welcome relief from the midday sun. The trickle of a nearby creek encouraged Claire to sink into the nature that surrounded her. Though, his face kept drifting through her mind. 

Maggie sat back on her haunches as she dug out a particularly stubborn plant root. “So,” she began, like she had been itching to ask all day, “what’s on yer mind?”

Claire frowned before settling herself on the forest floor. She set her basket beside Maggie’s and sighed. “Memories.”

“Or lack thereof,” Maggie said knowingly. They had several conversations since they met, and they were both grateful for the connection between them. Claire couldn’t help but open up to her, and though they didn’t spend as much time together as Claire wanted, their conversations never lacked depth. 

“Exactly.” She went quiet for a moment, and Maggie waited patiently, her fingers still working to free the root. “I had another memory. Or part of one.”

Maggie’s hands stopped. “Well, go on.”

Claire walked her through her dream, describing details as she remembered them.

“Apostle spoons,” Maggie whispered. “Interesting.”

“Apostle spoons?” Claire repeated.

“The spoons in the box, they were Apostle spoons, were they no’?”

Claire shook her head. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Each spoon represents one of the twelve apostles. It was tradition for a Godparent to present an Apostle spoon to a new baby. So, if the man was giving ye a box of Apostle spoons,” she furrowed her brow, “but ye don’t even know what they are so…” her eyes wandered as she struggled to piece together the information. 

Claire, too, was confused. “Maybe he gave them to me when I was less pregnant? And I am imagining a bigger belly because I have one now.”

Maggie nodded skeptically. “Perhaps.”

Claire prodded. “What are you thinking?”

“I dinna ken.” Her eyes were glazed. She spoke more to herself than to Claire. “Maybe he told ye about the spoons but ye dinna remember?” She shook her head, then raised her voice, prodding. “Are you dressed this way in all yer memories?”

Claire nodded. 

“And did ye no’ say that ye showed up at the stones wearin’ somethin’ similar?”

She nodded again. She had made that connection as well, but trying to dig deeper felt like using a shovel against a boulder. 

“And Mrs. Graham, she believes…”

Claire pinched the bridge of her nose. It felt like reaching. And it supplied no peace. 

“I ken,” Maggie sighed. “Ye canna believe it.”

Claire was exasperated. “No, I can’t. And even if I could, what would that mean? I went back in time, got pregnant, only to travel through time and come back? Why?”

“I dinna ken,” Maggie said calmly. “I’m not sayin’ ye did. But it would explain a couple things.”

“Like what?” Claire was sick of the conversation already, but any opportunity to gain a semblance of clarity was worth investigation.

“Well, to start, it would explain why ye got involved wi’ another man.”

“I couldn’t be faithful to Frank because I went back in time?” She raised an eyebrow, a little offended.

“No, but ye were gone fer three years, Claire, ‘tis a long time, especially if ye think ye’re stuck there. Would ye no’ try to make a life? Maybe ye tried to come back and ye couldna. It also sounds like ye loved this man, if yer memories are any indication.”

Claire felt a burning in her heart. If nothing else, she knew that was true.

Maggie finally pulled the root free and tucked it into her basket. “Sometimes ye have to embrace the impossible to understand what was ever really possible in the first place.” 

She pulled Claire to her feet and squeezed her arms before picking up both baskets. As they walked back, Maggie encouraged her to welcome any detail that popped up, to focus on it, and to just see what happened. Claire did her best to be open-minded, but the desolation made her wonder if she was ready for what could unfold.

******************************

The next couple months dragged. Claire tended to nap through the day, as her nights were restless. There were no more comfortable positions, and her body ached all over. She had enlisted Maggie to be with her when the baby came and insisted on a home birth, though she had been dead against it for so long. Claire trusted the hospital, she trusted the doctors there, and as a nurse she put faith in having medical support, but every time she imagined her baby being born, it was in her home. She spoke to her doctor, and he agreed to make a house call, though he advised against it. If something went wrong, they were an hour away from the nearest hospital. 

*********************************

Her voice whispering, “Jamie,” into dead air woke her from her sleep. His face had been at the forefront of her mind for months, but until now, he was nameless. Her initial feeling, as she felt the squeeze of her first contraction, was doubt. Was she doing the right thing? What if something did go wrong? She would never forgive herself if…

She took a deep breath and let the thought pass. It was the early hours of the morning, the sun hadn’t broken over the horizon yet, but she knew it would come soon enough. She sat in the chair by the fire after adding another log to the embers. November was quite cold, and she shivered, pulling a blanket from behind her and draping it over her body. 

She let her hands slide over her round belly before another contraction rippled through it. They weren’t strong yet, but knowing that made her nervous. As it subsided, a memory that had been teasing her came through much stronger. She was in a blue dress, sweeping down a grand staircase, in a hurry, distressed. Her pregnant belly was tightening, and she was short of breath. 

Another contraction came and went, and she wondered if she should call Maggie and the doctor. Peering over to the window, she could see that it was much lighter now, but she wasn’t ready for her cocoon to be invaded just yet.

As the pain pulled at her again, flashes came—being on a ship, saying she was pregnant, the man with the red hair embracing her. Then tipping back a glass to her lips, struggling to breathe, the man yelling her name before picking her up and carrying her away. She could hear his name in her mind even more now: Jamie. Jamie. Her voice was saying so, in many memories that overlapped in sound and vision. 

A more painful contraction startled her, and she found herself shocked at the intensity, but it was the memory accompanying it that caused her more grief. She stood in the woods, looking out into the clearing, a warmth flowing down her legs. She was shaking and doubled over as she fought through the pain, his name whispered on her lips. 

There was a quiet knock on the door and Claire glanced over in time to see Maggie entering, fresh linens in her arms. 

“I was going to call soon,” Claire choked out.

“I ken,” Maggie replied, placing the linens on the bed. Claire stopped questioning Maggie’s intuition months before, and began to trust in it, to rely on it. 

Maggie sat next to her friend, reaching over to brush her knuckles over Claire’s cheek. “What is it, lass?”

Claire’s hand went to her face, and she realized she had been crying. Any other person would have assumed it was the pain, but not Maggie. The deep brown of her eyes pulled at Claire, lulling her.

“I’m remembering more,” Claire sobbed, “and I don’t want to. I think—I—.” The pieces were beginning to fit together, but she rejected them. And through all of this, Jamie felt like a stranger, but also like the most important person in her life. She didn’t know if she could do this without him, and she was furious that he wasn’t there. She couldn’t bring herself to talk about her memories just yet. “What if he died, Maggie? I—I feel broken without him. And I hate it. I hate it more than I hate not remembering. I’m strong,” she said, her voice breaking, “I’ve been through horrible things, I’ve seen horrible things, and I’m here, I’m fine.”

Maggie smiled sadly. “Aye, ye’re strong, Claire. But ye’re human. We miss the ones we love.”

Claire looked into her eyes, the despair behind them was unbearable. “Jamie,” she breathed. “I think his name was Jamie.” 

Maggie reached for her hand. 

“I—I think we may have had another child.”

Maggie’s face mirrored her sadness.

“I’m terrified to find out what happened to that child. What if it needs me? Is it with Jamie? Is it safe?” Claire swiped at her cheeks. As she said it, she could feel another reality, but she wasn’t ready for it, and refused to acknowledge it.

“Let’s focus on bringin’ this wee one into the world today, now is no’ the time to worry about what we dinna ken.”

Claire adjusted herself in the chair as the pain began to build again. Maggie sat with her through it before excusing herself to call the doctor. 

**************************************

The sheer volume of memories that pushed through as Claire’s discomfort came in waves was overwhelming. Her in a wedding dress, Jamie’s warm hands on her body, their fingers tracing each other’s palms, a knife in her hand, his lips inches from hers, Lallybroch coming into view, Paris, helping the sick, a red dress, a beautiful boy with curly hair, a war, injuries, the boy again, Jamie’s hand in a bandage reaching for her stomach, the stones. 

Beads of sweat formed on her forehead as labour intensified. Maggie held a cool cloth there, and massaged her back and brought her water when needed, and Claire was so thankful for her presence. The doctor arrived just in time for her to start pushing, and between the flood of memories and intensity of pain, Claire was more than ready for the experience to be over. 

They were set up on the floor, which the doctor was quite unimpressed with, but one look from Maggie had him kneeling without a word. Claire began to bear down, and as she pushed she heard a pop, but wasn’t in her physical body. It was as though her memories had been kept in a pressurized bottle and the lid had finally been blown off. 

A rush of pictures bombarded her—falling to her knees in the woods, shouting Jamie’s name, him yelling hers in return. Nuns scurrying about, unbelievable pain, like the pain she was in now. She screamed through the agony and anguish, her physical and emotional pain colliding like the clouds when they are orchestrating a storm. As her last push created relief, she was left with the memory of holding a beautiful, lifeless, innocent child who was completely hers and Jamie’s, their life encompassed. How could something so pure could be so debilitating? And how could her and Jamie fit together so perfectly, and yet be destined for sorrow? 

As a crying, squirming baby was placed in her arms she was both destroyed and healed. She knew her other child was not somewhere out in the world. That baby didn’t need her, she wasn’t with Jamie, she was simply Faith. Tears flowed down her face. How unfair. She looked down at the beautiful hair on this child, who was full of life. How exquisite. 

She could feel herself falling back into the trauma that happened years before. It felt like the shreds of happiness turned liquid and bled out of her. She understood what she lost now and it strangled her. Pulling this live, healthy child toward her chest, she tried desperately to avoid slipping into the grief that felt all-consuming. 

All three of them jumped as the door flew open revealing a man in a kilt, his sword drawn, a deep frown on his face. “Christ,” he mumbled, his sword and his eyes both lowering to the floor.

She knew him. He had graced so many of her memories before. “Murtagh!”


End file.
